Disclaimer: Alias Smith and Jones does not belong to me. This is fan fiction, not for profit.
Any references to people, places, businesses, etc. are entirely fictitious.
A/N – story presumes the details on the wanted posters are not entirely accurate. Story exists in the same No Amnesty - Smith and Jones story verse as previous stories.
Killing Time: The Banshee
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"What is that horrible noise?" demanded Heyes.
A high pitched wailing sound emanated from the rear of the saloon. Around the table, one of the other poker players shrugged, two others muttered something unintelligible, and the man in black merely looked up. His chill eyes stared across the table directly at Heyes with a look that seemed to indicate Heyes should know the answer.
"The kid," responded the gap toothed dealer.
The man dealt the last card face down on the green felt covered table. The squalling ratcheted upwards another notch.
"Kid?" asked Heyes.
The brown haired Kansan gave a wary glance around the drafty barroom. His blond partner was nowhere to be seen. Of course that was why Heyes was in the saloon. Killing time, waiting to meet his partner, the partner who should have been in Watch Dog, South Dakota already.
"Colleen's kid," answered the heavyset man seated to the right of the dealer. He gestured towards the red haired saloon gal hurrying to the back. "Some feller left her in the family way last year and she didn't have sense enough to get rid of it."
"Maybe the noise is the banshee," suggested the little man seated to the left of the dealer. Perusing his cards, the small man tipped his green bowler back on his head. He smirked. "I hear that ghoulish woman leaves Watch Dog Butte this time of year, searching for her fiddle playing lover."
"The skeleton man you mean?" snorted the dealer. "Now I heard she shrieks and flails her arms at him, but I ain't never been sure if she's searching for mister skeleton man or sending him on his way."
Guffaws sounded from around the table, but Heyes listened to the sound coming from the back room. The wailing skyrocketed. The noise didn't sound like any baby he'd ever heard before.
"Those ghouls aren't lovers," corrected the somber man dressed all in black with the quiet assured tone of one who knew. "The banshee warns mortals of death, the skeleton man guides the departed…" he paused, "to their final reward."
Heyes had enough.
"Banshees aren't anything to joke about," declared the former outlaw.
While the other men at the table looked surprised at Heyes' outburst, the gaunt man in black gave a slight nod.
"Don't tell me you're superstitious," chided the green hatted man.
The little man leaned back in his chair with a smirk. Reaching into his green vest pocket he withdrew a twenty dollar gold piece and threw it into the center of the table.
"I raise."
One by one the rest of the players added money to the pot. When it came to Heyes, he threw his cards face down, pushed back his chair and stood up.
"The stakes are too high," responded Heyes "If you'll excuse me gents, I'm leaving."
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Upstairs in his room, Heyes laid his holster across the headboard and placed his black hat atop the post. The squalling that he'd hope to leave behind sounded even louder now. The worried man stripped off his outer clothes and climbed into bed wearing nothing but his long johns. Heyes turned down the lantern and rolled over on his left side. The other bed, empty, shadowed in the pale moonlight, awaited the arrival of his partner.
"It's just a hungry baby, not a banshee," muttered Heyes. He pounded his right hand into the pillow. "Grampa told me all about 'em."
Heyes drifted off into an uneasy sleep, trying to remember why he'd said the stakes were too high. Two pair, aces over eights, was a good hand. No telling what the luck of the next draw might bring.
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"What is that noise?" grumbled Grampa's voice. "It sounds like you've got a banshee up here."
"Ain't nothin' Grampa," called Han quickly, "we'll be quiet."
But Han was too late. Grampa Curry's head peeked up into the loft. He raised the lantern higher. Sharp green eyes took in the scene. Jed was thrashing. In the dim light, traces of dried tears could be seen on the eight year old's face. Han lay watchful, stiff and still in the loft bed the cousins now shared. Grampa's face crumpled.
"I thought he'd quit having those nightmares," rasped Grampa.
"Not as often now, but seeing Joseph today..."
Han's voice trailed off. Maeve's intended had traveled all the way from the school he attended back East to come pay his respects. The young man had fallen to his knees at the grave of Jed's family. Han would never have thought that the quiet young man who used to hold his pretty cousin Maeve's hand when they walked home from church together could ever make those great gulping sobs.
"Jed will settle after he kicks awhile," added Han. "It's best not to disturb him until he's done kicking, or he might haul off and sock you."
"Aah," murmured Grampa. "Is that how you got that black eye a couple of weeks ago?"
Han nodded. Grampa's gnarled hand beckoned. Han cautiously climbed down from the loft as his grandfather returned the lantern to the tabletop. Han was really too big to be sitting in Grampa's lap, but somehow that was where he ended up. The dark haired boy leaned against his grandfather's chest.
"What's a banshee?" asked Han.
"Aah," sighed Grampa, "it's just a word from another time, another place. They probably don't have banshees in Kansas."
"But what is a banshee?" persisted the inquisitive boy.
It was a moment before Grampa spoke again.
"A creature of legend," answered the Irishman. "Sometimes she's a beautiful fairy woman, with long flowing silver hair. Other times, she appears as a human woman keening for the loss of a loved one or warning of a death to come."
The rocker in front of the fireplace creaked a slow, steady rhythm, back and forth, back and forth. Han's younger sister Cleo was in the trundle in their parent's quiet room. From the stillness above, Jed was finally asleep. Only Han and Grampa were awake.
"I think they come to let those of us who remain know our loved ones are safe with them," soothed Grampa.
"I thought a banshee was supposed to look bloody and bony, horrible… scary," whispered Han.
The rocker stopped its' comforting motion. Grampa looked Han directly in the eyes and smirked.
"I thought you didn't know what a banshee was?"
"I don't," replied the silver tongued boy, "I just know what some of the other folks in town say, and I thought I'd ask you because you'd know for sure."
A soft rumble vibrated from his grandfather's chest. The old man hugged Han tighter. The clock on the mantle chimed…
"There are other tales," nodded Grampa.
"Does she look scary sometimes?"
"Perhaps she does look frightening to someone who's afraid of dying," suggested Grampa. "But the only banshees I've ever seen were beautiful."
"You've seen a banshee?"
"Aye," answered Grampa. "And heard their cry."
"Did you hear the banshee cry before…," Han hesitated.
Dark brown eyes looked upwards to the loft. Grampa sighed and hugged Han even closer.
"Mortal men may not always know the sound of a banshee, until it's too late," murmured Grampa as he continued to rock back and forth, back and forth.
The mantle clock chimed again. How many times had it chimed? And where was Grampa? Heyes stood in a corridor lined with doors. He blinked his tired eyes. The door nearest him opened. His mother stood at the doorway, her long curly red hair shining, burnished copper, in the golden lamplight. She smiled and reached out her hand towards Heyes. All the other doors faded from sight. Only his mother, her warm gentle smile, and the glow remained.
"Han."
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"Han, don't leave me."
"Unh," Heyes groaned at the desolate sound of Kid's words.
Heyes' left arm hurt and he couldn't move it. His right hand hurt too, but most of all, his head hurt.
"Han," called his partner's broken voice from somewhere very far away. "It's been three days now. Come on now partner, wake up. "
"Huh?"
Heyes struggled to open his heavy lidded eyes. Something was wrong. Why was his cousin calling him by his boyhood nickname?
"Unh," groaned Heyes again.
A cool damp cloth pressed against his forehead. Fingers gently brushed through Heyes' hair.
"Come on," coaxed Kid. "Open your eyes."
His partner's worried voice sounded closer. Heyes blinked. A blurry figure appeared in front of him. Heyes blinked again. The figure focused. Kid. A tremulous smile spread across Heyes' face.
"Kid," whispered Heyes.
The figure leaned forward. For a moment, the familiar face of his partner looked horribly gaunt. Unexpected pallor and dark circles under Kid's eyes made his face look more like a grinning skull than a grinning man. The damp cloth traced a path down the side of Heyes' face. His partner sat back. Kid's clothes were ripped in places, covered with dust and dirt and Kid looked like he'd slept in them for at least the past three days he'd mentioned, or maybe longer, if he'd slept at all. And, there was a red stain on Kid's chest. Blood.
"Kid are you alright?" demanded Heyes becoming fully alert.
"Sssh," soothed Kid. "Don't worry, I'm fine."
"The blood…"
"It ain't mine, it's yours," interrupted Kid.
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"Are you tryin' to scare me worse?" asked Kid later when Heyes told him of his dream. Kid shook his head. "You ain't gonna ever get me to believe that Aunt Moira is a banshee."
"I didn't say my mother was a banshee," huffed Heyes, "just that the dream reminded me of what Grampa told me."
Kid held a spoon out towards Heyes. The wobbly former outlaw opened his mouth obediently. Mashed potatoes slid down his throat.
"More?"
Heyes assessed his condition. His stomach didn't seem to be inclined to rebel against the food, but he didn't want to try anything too fast. The lump on his head still pounded like signal drums. His left forearm was bound up in a splint, and his right knuckles were scraped, swollen and red, from the rock slide that had nearly killed both of them.
"You take a bite first," ordered Heyes. "Doc told me you ain't been eating since you brought me here."
Kid looked much less frightening since he'd gotten cleaned up. The long sleeved blue shirt covered the cuts and bruises on his arms. Kid grinned back at Heyes and took a bite of tender fried chicken and followed it with a heaping scoop of mashed potatoes.
"That dream seemed so real," murmured Heyes.
"None of it was real," reminded Kid. "We're in Arizona not South Dakota. I don't even know if there is such a place as Watch Dog, South Dakota."
"It coulda been real," objected Heyes. "Grampa believed in banshees."
"Did he now?" asked Kid as he sliced some chicken into smaller bits and gathered them up on the spoon. "Grampa never told me."
"Yeah, and I'm sure I heard a banshee wail the night before the raiders came," declared Heyes.
"Really?"
Disbelief was readily apparent in Kid voice. His partner held the spoon out towards Heyes again.
"Yeah," nodded Heyes. "Ungodly squalling. Worse than a hungry baby, worse than a cat…"
"You stepped on Mouse Muncher's tail that night," reminded Kid.
"How can you remember something like that?" demanded Heyes with a huff of annoyance.
"Dunno, just do," replied Kid with a shrug. "Sometimes at Valparaiso, at bedtime, I'd try to remember every last detail of a day at home, to take my mind off that place. Still try sometimes."
"What do you mean you still do?"
"Not so often anymore," answered Kid, "but whenever I was jailed, I would pull my hat down over my eyes and try to think of good memories."
"I thought you were sleeping," snorted Heyes.
"Maybe I was," agreed Kid. The shootist pressed the spoon forward, Heyes closed his mouth over the bit of chicken. "But if so, I had good dreams."
Heyes smiled.
"The strangest thing about that dream was me folding," continued Heyes. "Odds were in my favor for a full house, but I said the stakes were too high."
"You folded?" asked Kid with an incredulous tone. "What were the stakes?"
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"Unh," groaned Heyes.
The wind screamed in his ears. The dark haired man blinked the dust from his eyes and tried to swallow. Heyes' left arm hurt and he couldn't move it. His right hand hurt too, but most of all, his head hurt and he couldn't see his partner anywhere.
"Kid?"
Heyes groaned again as he pushed up from the canyon floor using only his right arm. He could see a trail in the dusty ground behind him. Heyes had obviously been crawling, or trying to. His hat lay on the ground and there was no sign of his horse. He swiveled his head in the other direction. Fireworks went off behind his eyes and he nearly passed out again.
"Kid!"
His partner lay sprawled a short distance in front of him. Kid's clothes were ripped in places, covered with dust and dirt. There was a red stain on Kid's chest. Was it blood? Or dust from the red rocks that surrounded them? Heyes remembered the rock slide. Kid's horse had reared up. As the first rocks hit, Kid had been thrown from the frightened animal. A jumbled pile of rocks lay just beyond Kid providing mute testimony to the horse's fate. Heyes pushed up to a very wobbly stand and staggered towards his partner.
"Kid, are you…"
Heyes voice faltered as he knelt down and gently rolled his partner over. A smile spread across his face at the sight of Kid's chest moving up and down. Heyes reached out and patted his partner's cheek.
"Come on now partner, wake up."
Kid didn't stir. A drop of rain spattered on Heyes' outstretched hand.
"Kid, we're runnin' outta time. We gotta get to higher ground, there's a storm coming," breathed Heyes. "You're heavy. It's sorta hard to lift you like this. I could really use your help right about now."
The wind howled again. Heyes tried to position his partner against his shoulder and push up from the ground, but to no avail. Clouds darkened overhead and the wind wailed, screaming of the oncoming storm. A small dust devil skittered clockwise across the canyon floor, picking up dust, broken sticks and dried leaves, flailing them at the shadows. Heyes eyes popped. In the dark crevice of the canyon wall, stood the somber man from Heyes' dream poker game. His gaunt face smiled. Beside him, more broken sticks swirled in a semblance of a skeleton. The skeleton man seemed to step outwards, stick arms outstretched towards the two men. Heyes reacted. If Kid had been conscious he would have been impressed with how quickly Heyes drew.
"Stay away!"
Shots echoed in the canyon as Heyes emptied his gun at the apparition. Moving beyond the shadowed crevice, the swirling dust devil soared higher.
"Pa," screamed a boy's voice. "Come quick! There's two men down here and they're hurt."
Heyes' eyes travelled upwards. A boy with curly blond hair peered over the edge of the canyon. Heyes' missing horse ambled up beside the boy, nibbling grass. A big man joined the little group.
"Good thing you fired all those shots," hollered the rancher, "or we'd never found you before the storm."
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"Are you tryin' to scare me worse?" asked Kid several hours later when Heyes told him how they wound up at the Potter's ranch.
The doctor had come and gone. Both men looked better now that they were patched up and clean. Mrs. Potter had brought in two dinner plates. The aroma of seared steak wafted temptingly across the room, but neither partner was eating just yet. Heyes looked at the smashed pocket watch in his hand. Based on the time, the rock slide had happened three hours before the rancher found them.
"That dream seemed so real," murmured Heyes. "Are you sure you didn't hear anything?"
"I told you, I woke up once and tried to call to you, but when I moved, I passed out again," answered Kid. "And Grampa never told me about any banshees. I don't know what you saw."
The shootist uncrossed the long arms folded over his chest and reached for a fork. A long sleeved blue shirt covered the cuts and bruises on his arms. Kid's forehead was wrapped in a clean white bandage similar to the one on Heyes' head.
"Do you think it was a hallucination?" asked Heyes.
The doctor had suggested as much.
"I don't know about banshees or hallucinations," replied Kid. "But I do believe you would do whatever was needed to keep us safe, including trying to shoot a ghost."
"Wait a minute," Heyes narrowed his eyes in confusion. "Did you just say you don't believe in banshees? But you do believe in ghosts?"
"I said I believe you would keep us safe," answered Kid. "What I can't believe is that you would fold on two pairs without even drawing a card!"
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Should you wish additional information:
For general information, see Wikipedia article on Banshee
For US specific legend of banshee in Watch Dog Butte SD, see: Skinner, Charles M. "Myths and Legends of Our Own Land".
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